


A Push in the Right Direction

by LollipopCop



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drugged Sherlock, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, Lestrade just wants his bros to get together, M/M, POV: Lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 11:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4433201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LollipopCop/pseuds/LollipopCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock was drugged by Irene Adler, he spilled his heart out to John, and Lestrade captured it all on his phone. However, Sherlock and John acted like it never happened. Years later, after John and Mary's divorce, Lestrade remembers the video and decides to confront John.<br/>Or: Lestrade is tired of watching his friends pine and decides to step in with some tough love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Push in the Right Direction

**Author's Note:**

> I love the idea floating around the fandom that Sherlock said sweet things to John while he was drugged, and that's why John was seen with a bottle of wine later, but aborted his attempt to talk about his feelings with Sherlock because Irene showed up.  
> I also love the idea of Lestrade being so done with their shit.

On the night Sherlock was drugged by Irene Adler, Lestrade filmed the incident on his phone. He meant no harm by it, only fun, and whole thing was pretty damned funny. At first. In hindsight, however, he should have left the minute Sherlock and John safely arrived at their flat.

Lestrade hadn’t cared so much about catching that woman, whoever she was, as he did about getting Sherlock home without hurting himself. So, he offered to drive him and John back to Baker Street. John accepted gratefully and shoved Sherlock into the back of the police car. Sherlock slumped over on John’s shoulder. Lestrade saw John tense, but he didn’t move his friend. Lestrade got in the front and drove, looking back at Sherlock in the rearview mirror as often as he could without crashing. His worry quickly morphed into amusement.

Sherlock had spent the majority of the ride with his face smushed in John’s shoulder and mumbling nonsense to himself. Lestrade couldn’t hear a word of it, but seeing Sherlock so out of it was priceless. John was clearly trying not to laugh, but failing every few minutes.

“John,” Sherlock lifted his head suddenly, “did you know that the world is spinning?”

“It tends to do that, Sherlock. The earth spins on an axis.”

“No! I mean it’s spinning in here.”

“Oh. Just a side-effect, Sherlock. Why don’t you sit up instead of using me as a pillow?”

“No, you smell nice.”

“Do I?” John humored him.

“Yes, how do you do it?” Sherlock sounded confused.

“It’s called bathing,” John answered, and Lestrade laughed loudly.

Sherlock grumbled and put his head down on John’s shoulder again.

God, Lestrade wanted a camera.

When they arrived at Baker Street, John lugged Sherlock out of the back of the police car and Sherlock leaned heavily on John, nearly sending both of them to the ground.

“Easy!” John grumbled as he put Sherlock’s arm around his neck and supported his weight. “You’re like a sack of potatoes.”

“I like potatoes,” Sherlock mumbled into John’s neck.

Lestrade hid his smirk. “I’ll help you get him up to your flat.” _So I can keep laughing at him,_ he thought to himself. Okay, maybe part of Lestrade’s enjoyment wasn’t innocent and came from the fact that Sherlock treated him like an idiot for years. But, this was funny. He wasn’t being (totally) malicious. “Do you have your key?”

“Ring the bell,” John set Sherlock’s arm more securely around him, “Mrs. Hudson should answer.”

Lestrade rang the bell and Mrs. Hudson appeared a few seconds later.

“Oh, goodness!” she cried when she saw Sherlock. “Is he all right?”

“Just a bit drugged,” John said. “He should be fine.”

“He’s _drugged?”_ she shrieked. “What happened, Detective Inspector?”

Lestrade was about to answer when Sherlock put a finger to his lips. “Shhhhhhhh,” he squinted at her. “You’re loud, Hudders,” he said in a whisper. Well, he attempted to whisper, but he was louder than Mrs. Hudson’s shrieking.

That’s it; Lestrade needed to record this. He took out his phone and hit record as John brought Sherlock through the door.

John caught his eye and groaned. “Seriously?”

“Come on, this will be great blackmail!” Lestrade said. “Think of all of the times he’s annoyed you.”

John rolled his eyes, but his annoyance wasn’t very convincing. God knows how much John had to put up with living with the guy. “Fine, fine. Don’t show it to anyone unless he’s done something awful, though, or else he’d kill you.”

“Whatcha talkin’ about?” Sherlock asked.

“Nothing,” John said. “Christ, could you at least try to move your legs?”

“Can’t,” Sherlock said, his head drooping forward. “Tired. You’re strong. You can do it.”

John groaned and began to drag him up the stairs. Sherlock kind of tried to help, but he did seem to have difficulty moving. He was like an oversized ragdoll.

Lestrade decided that he would have to back up this video in case anything ever happened to his phone. He didn’t want to lose this. Aside from being funny, it was kind of endearing to watch Sherlock and John interact like this, without the stress of a case. Even though Sherlock annoyed him to no end, Lestrade truly was fond of him.

“You know,” John called over his shoulder to Lestrade, “you could help.”

“I could,” Lestrade agreed, angling his phone so he could record John and Sherlock going up the stairs, “but my hands are already full.”

John made a pained noise. “You’ll pay for this. I won’t hold him back from bugging you for a case.”

“John,” Sherlock said in a low whine, “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” John huffed as he got them to the top of the steps.

Lestrade followed and got in front of them to record their faces.

“Greg,” John sighed. “I--”

“I knew you could do it,” Sherlock smiled lazily, cutting John off. “See? Told ya you were strong. People don’t know. It’s all under those,” he pointed at John’s jumper accusingly. “It’s a crime.”

“What’s a crime?” Lestrade asked.

“He hides his muscles,” Sherlock said sincerely.

Lestrade did his best not to chuckle. “What, and you want to see them?” he joked.

“Yes!” Sherlock’s eyes widened. “Absolutely.”

Lestrade didn’t expect that. Sherlock must have really had all of his guard down if he said that. The bit in the car when Sherlock said John smelled nice was cute, but this wasn’t as innocent. A twisting feeling spread over Lestrade’s gut.

John cleared his throat. “Come on, Sherlock,” he muttered, adjusting his hold on Sherlock again and bringing him to his room. He scowled at Lestrade. “Make yourself useful and open his door.”

Lestrade opened the door, feeling a little guilty. But, Sherlock was just spewing funny nonsense, right?

“John, John, John,” Sherlock said, seemingly saying his name for the sake of it. He still had that lazy smile on his face and his eyes were glassy, slipping closed only to rapidly blink open.

“Almost to your room,” John told him.

Sherlock was able to move his legs a bit, which made John’s job easier, but he kept talking. “Am I ill, John? I feel ill. Help me, John.”

“You’re going to be fine, Sherlock,” John assured him. “You’ll be fine after a good sleep. Trust your doctor.”

“You’re my doctor,” Sherlock nodded.

“That’s right,” John responded and sat Sherlock down on the bed, kneeling to untie his shoes.

“You take care of me a lot,” Sherlock said quietly.

Lestrade was getting a bad feeling about this. He didn’t expect Sherlock to start making admissions. It made him feel like an intruder.

“You’re always kind,” Sherlock said, wiggling his toes after John removed his shoes.

John got up, not looking at Sherlock or Lestrade. “Someone’s got to take care of you,” John said in a forced, light tone, and Lestrade felt that it was for his sake more than Sherlock’s.

Sherlock grabbed John’s arm so abruptly it nearly startled Lestrade.

“You always do,” Sherlock’s glassy eyes looked up earnestly at John, Lestrade’s presence apparently invisible to him. “I like it. I like you, John,” he told him emphatically.

Lestrade stopped breathing. Was Sherlock going to…? No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t!

“That’s nice,” John swallowed. He patted Sherlock’s shoulder. “Up for a second.”

Sherlock stood, still holding John’s arm. “I like you very much,” he went on. “More than anyone. Ever. ‘S alarming.”

_My god, he’s really doing this!_ Lestrade thought in a panic. Poor bloke. He didn’t even know what he was saying.

John didn’t answer him as he pulled down the duvet and sheet. He gently pushed Sherlock on the bed. “Go to sleep,” he said.

Sherlock grumbled, but curled up on his side. The drug was winning him over. “You’re not listening! I like you, John. I want you to keep caring for me.” He yawned and closed his eyes. “Dunno why, but I do.”

This wasn’t funny anymore, not in the slightest. Lestrade’s finger hovered over the button to stop recording, frozen. He was captivated by the scene playing out in front of him. He knew he shouldn’t be watching, but it was like looking at a trainwreck. He just couldn’t look away.

John pulled the sheet over Sherlock and tucked it around him firmly. “Sleep, Sherlock.”

“Stay, John,” he mumbled into his pillow. “I like you so much. I think I…” he yawned again.

John’s left hand clenched into a fist. “What, Sherlock?”

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” he nuzzled his pillow, slurring the last couple words. “I like being with you. Lots. You’re nice ‘n give me a purpose.”

That was way deeper than Lestrade could handle.

The room was silent for a solid fifteen seconds. John seemed to be processing what Sherlock said, and Lestrade felt like a complete arse for filming it all. He stopped the recording and put the phone back in his pocket, looking down at his shoes. He felt embarrassed for Sherlock. He knew John meant a lot to Sherlock, but he didn’t know the extent of his feelings. Hell, he didn’t know Sherlock could feel things that way. But, he just witnessed the truth. There he was: the great Sherlock Holmes, spilling his heart out, high as a kite. Lestrade’s heart sank for his friend (did Sherlock consider them friends? Oh well, they were friends whether he’d admit it or not).

Lestrade looked back at Sherlock. He seemed to have finally passed out, mouth wide open, cheek smushed against his pillow and eyelashes fluttering.

John was breathing heavily, both of his hands now clenched into fists. He gave Lestrade the most frightening look he’d ever seen, and that said a lot, considering his years of being on the force.

“Get out,” John said dangerously.

Lestrade gulped and left the room. John’s anger was completely justified. He was the one who stayed in the room and kept recording during an intimate conversation. He exited the flat and drove away.

* * *

 

Sherlock must not have remembered what he said and John must have kept quiet about it, because they appeared absolutely normal at the next crime scene.  _What a damn waste._

 

* * *

In the end, he didn’t delete the video. He thought he did, but it turns out he deleted a video from his niece’s birthday party instead (he wasn’t exactly tech-savvy). He discovered the video three years later, after Sherlock came back and John’s divorce went through. Lestrade nearly teared up when he watched it. It was sad then, but now? Now, it was just heartbreaking. Years passed and neither made a move. Lestrade thought of John’s wedding and Sherlock’s speech.

He remembered looking at Molly Hooper at one point during the speech, and she looked just as sad as he felt. It seemed like everyone knew they were meant to be. Everyone but them.

They were so fucking _stubborn._ Lestrade didn’t really blame Sherlock for holding himself back, especially after John got married, but it was John who made him angry. John had an entire bloody blog dedicated to Sherlock and heard his feelings that night, and he still pretended that he didn’t feel that way for Sherlock and that Sherlock was cold and emotionless. Sherlock’s speech was a love letter, for Christ’s sake! His denial was utterly astounding.

Fuck it, Lestrade decided. He was tired of seeing Sherlock pine hopelessly and John act oblivious to it all. He needed to talk to John.

* * *

About two months after John and Mary’s divorce, Lestrade invited him out for drinks. They met up in the evening. Lestrade ordered whiskey, but didn’t drink much of it. He needed to be sober for this conversation.

“So, how’s life with Sherlock again?” he asked casually.

“Mmm,” John nodded as he sipped his beer. “Good,” he said as he put the drink down, “very good. Kind of surreal at times.”

John was comfortable so far. Good sign. “Does he still wreck the kitchen with his experiments and wake you up with his violin?”

“Sometimes,” John said, frowning slightly. “Not as often as he used to. He seems...I don’t know, kind of subdued lately.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, he still takes cases, as you know, and he’s still the same old Sherlock, except that he’s kind of quiet at home.”

Lestrade raised his eyebrows. “Sherlock’s quiet? I didn’t think that was possible.”

John snorted. “I know. I would have been pleased about it, but it just doesn’t seem like him.”

Lestrade’s fingers tapped on the counter. _He’s probably walking on eggshells because he doesn’t want you to leave again, you oblivious git._ “You think something’s wrong?”

John shrugged. “He seems okay otherwise.”

Lestrade was going to punch him. All of Scotland Yard could see how Sherlock looked at John. This was getting ridiculous. He needed to bring the conversation around to the past. “Maybe he’s slowing down as he gets older, you know? He’s changed since you first met.” That was too far back, but he could work up to the night with that woman.

“I know,” John said, taking another sip of his drink. “He’s more human, but I guess he’s always been human. Not sure. I can’t figure him out sometimes.”

“He’s always acted human when it comes to you,” Lestrade said.

John smiled ruefully. “Maybe.”

It was taking all of Lestrade’s strength not to yell. “‘Maybe’? He killed a man for you.” He rolled his eyes when John looked surprise. “Yeah, I know about that. I’m not an idiot. Mycroft already threatened me not to tell anyone, don’t worry.”

The tension in John’s shoulders only relaxed by a fraction. “He killed him to help Mary.”

Lestrade drank from his glass. He couldn’t keep going through this sober. He took a deep breath. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

John’s fingers squeezed around his drink, but he didn’t say anything.

Might as well go for it, then. “Sherlock would do anything for you. You’re best friends. Maybe you should ask him what’s going on if he’s acting out of character.”

“He doesn’t tell me anything,” John muttered, staring at his glass. “Didn’t even tell me his suicide was fake.”

_Great, we’re back to this._ Lestrade felt a little bad for thinking that, but he was getting really frustrated. “He cares about you,” he brought the conversation back to the original topic. “He’s said so multiple times.”

“Yeah, when?”

How could someone be so deliberately obtuse? He had to stay calm. He had a mission. “His speech, for one thing.”

John sighed, needing no clarification. “It was--what’s that word?--platonic.”

_Bingo._ “Oh, so you’re admitting that you wished Sherlock cared in a non-platonic way?”

John’s head shot up and he glared at Lestrade. “I never said that.”

Lestrade wasn’t about to back down. “You might as well have.”

John’s lip twitched. “Watch it, Greg.”

“No,” he said firmly. “You’ve been head-over-heels for him for years. No!” he held up a finger when John opened his mouth. “Shut up. Don’t try to deny it. I’ve been around you two for years. I see how you look at him. I’ve read your bloody blog. Just _say_ it.”

“I can’t!” John slammed his fist on the counter, attracting the attention of about ten people around them.

Lestrade couldn’t care less. He was making a breakthrough. “You should tell him,” he said softly, or as softly as he could in a loud pub.

John swallowed and looked away, staring at his glass again. It amazed Lestrade that such a courageous man could turn into such a fucking coward when it came to emotions. And people thought Sherlock was the one who had problems expressing his feelings. (Actually, they both did. What a fucking pair.)

“He doesn’t feel things that way,” John said numbly.

“Bollocks.” Now would be a good time to bring up… “Remember when that woman drugged him, Eileen or Irene, or whoever?”

John froze. “Yes?” he asked warily.

“You remember what he said to you?”

“Leave it,” John said.

“I still have the video.”

John’s head whipped around, eyes furious. “Why?!”

“I forgot about it,” he said honestly. “You seriously think he doesn’t feel things that way? After that night?”

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know what? I tried. I tried to talk to him about it the next day. I even bought a fucking bottle of wine. Know what happened? She showed up in his bed and they started flirting with each other, and…” he trailed off.

_Ouch._ He hadn’t known that. But still, “That doesn’t make what he said any less true.”

They stayed silent for a long, agonizing minute, absorbed in their thoughts. Lestrade never fully understood what happened between Sherlock and the Woman, but it didn’t really matter, in his opinion. It was clear that he didn’t--couldn’t--love her as much as he loved John.

John sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. “Greg, can I see the video?”

_Yes!_ “Sure. It’s kind of loud in here, though.”

“I’ll take it in the loo with me. Don’t worry, I won’t flush your phone.”

Lestrade laughed weakly. “All right.”

John got up with his phone.

Lestrade drank the rest of his whiskey. He felt exhausted after that conversation. If he wasn’t going to be the best man at their future wedding, he was going to punch both of them.

After a few minutes, John came back, looking serious, but not angry like he was before.

“I need to go home,” John said somberly. He looked worried, but determined. He gave Lestrade his phone back. “I--thank you, Greg. I’m sorry that I--”

Lestrade waved his apology away with his hand. “Just go. You two have waited long enough.”

John smiled, put money down on the counter, and walked out of the pub.

Lestrade ordered another drink, feeling triumphant. No matter what happened, at least he got through to John.

* * *

 He didn’t hear from either John or Sherlock in four days. Whatever happened after John left the pub was their business and he didn’t want to invade their privacy, but there was a new case and he really needed Sherlock’s help. He wasn’t answering his phone, so Lestrade went to the flat. Mrs. Hudson led him upstairs with a strange, wide grin on her face.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she giggled and went downstairs.

Weird.

Lestrade opened the door to the flat and his jaw dropped.

Sherlock and John were standing in the middle of the room, snogging as if their lives depended on it. Their kisses made long, wet sounds that was probably arousing to them, but kind to gross to Lestrade.

Well. That’s why he hadn’t heard from them.

Sherlock was cupping John’s face and stroking his skin with his thumbs. His eyebrows were furrowed, forming a little crinkle, and it was the most passion Lestrade had ever seen on his face. Sherlock broke the kiss and whispered something in John’s ear that made John moan. “Yes, Sherlock,” he panted, “always. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Sherlock said, voice so low Lestrade could barely hear it.

John mimicked Sherlock and cupped his face. He did it gently, so gently, as if Sherlock was a fragile, porcelain doll. “I love you.”

“Love you, too” Sherlock rubbed his nose against John’s. The action was sweet. Sherlock was being _sweet_ with John. The love in his eyes so intense that it was overwhelming, and they started kissing again. He moved his arms to embrace John, holding the smaller body against his. He fingers gripped the fabric of John’s jumped and he squeezed John tighter.

John still had one hand cupping Sherlock’s face, but the other one now had a fistful of curls at Sherlock’s nape. “I’ve always loved you,” John murmured between little kisses. “I’m sorry that--”

“Hush,” Sherlock pecked his lower lip with a wet smack. “It’s all in the past. We’re here now. Nothing else matters.” Leave it to Sherlock not to hold any grudges and see the logic in the situation.

John smiled, and Lestrade could see from there that it was a smile absent of any pain or suffering. He hadn’t seen John smile like that in years. “Yeah,” John said, almost dreamily.

They started to kiss again, but it was softer, this time, and perhaps even more intimate because of it.

“I can’t believe I finally have you,” Sherlock said.

“It’s going to stay that way,” John said firmly. “I promise.”

Sherlock had a big, goofy grin on his face and his cheeks were pink.

“Look at you,” John said huskily. “Fucking gorgeous. Mine,” he tugged at Sherlock’s shirt collar.

“Yours,” Sherlock said and they started kissing once more.

John sucked Sherlock's bottom lip into his mouth and Sherlock actually _whimpered_ , and Lestrade swore he saw his knees shake. Sherlock clutched John’s shoulders to keep himself upright. “John,” he moaned when John moved to kiss his neck. “God, that feels--don’t stop.”

John hummed and started sucking, undoubtedly leaving a mark on the pale skin.

“John, I love you, you mean the world to me, I, _ugh!”_ he tilted his head back as John’s sucked on his Adam’s apple.

God, he was actually babbling. Were they really so out of it that they didn’t notice Lestrade standing there? Actually, best to keep it that way. He intruded on a tender moment between them once; he would give them some privacy now. He could try to solve the case without Sherlock.

Later that night, he received a text from Sherlock:

_Thank you, Greg. SH_

Out of all the things he’d witnessed that day, having Sherlock actually remember his fucking name for once was the most shocking. He took a screenshot of the text. It was that important.

He texted back:

**What are friends for? Have fun ;)**

Sherlock was probably going to make a face at the emoticon, but Lestrade didn’t care.

When they showed up to a crime scene (turns out he really did need Sherlock’s help) two days later, Sherlock and John were holding hands.

While Sherlock was examining the body, John and Lestrade shared a private smile. John gave him a nod before turning his attention towards Sherlock and the case.

When they left the crime scene, Lestrade saw John kiss Sherlock’s cheek before they entered a cab.

Mission fucking accomplished.

**Author's Note:**

> I really adore Lestrade. He's probably just as fed up with the boys' shenanigans as we are :P


End file.
